


The Birds and the Beasts

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26323168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By MJ.Where was Gandalf headed when he left Bag End that fateful afternoon.
Relationships: Gandalf | Mithrandir/Radagast | Aiwendil
Kudos: 2
Collections: Least Expected





	The Birds and the Beasts

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: These characters were created by J.R.R. Tolkien and belong to him alone. I make no profits from their visits to any of these stories.  
>  Feedback: Yes, please!  
>  Story Notes: This is indeed Gandalf slash, but you'll have to see who it is. <g>

"Now, just wait a minute. You know it will do no good to work yourself into a dither. If something is meant to be..." 

"What about frogs? Yes, I like that." Gandalf squinted into the fire. "A rain of them, right in his garden, out of the clear blue sky. He would definitely have to send for Sam then." 

"No, no. Please. Frogs?" The voice was indignant. "From what you've told me, he'd probably never notice and there they'd be, sprawled among the eggplant and the peonies, croaking their hearts out, no possible way to get home and what would you do then, eh?" 

Gandalf sighed, shook his head. "It was merely a thought. And I admit, not a good one." He nodded in the direction of the little fire. "Is the soup ready?" 

"I'll check." A hand reached toward the small kettle, long fingers grasping a wooden spoon, stirring gently. "It smells perfectly done, but..." The spoon was lifted, a careful sip taken. "Mmmm, wonderful. I have supassed even myself this time. Here, hand me your bowl." 

Gandalf obeyed, shaking his head with a smile, then settled back against the old stump, studying the strong face limned in the glow of their little fire. Although years of wind and weather had left their mark, it was still handsome, the deepset eyes as blue as the bluest summer sky, the broad planes and sharp angles settled comfortably by time around a nose more used to the scent of forest and river than the comforts of four walls and a hearth. The face glanced his way and grinned and Gandalf knew his own heart would break should he never look upon it again. And here came the brimming bowl... 

"Here you are, my dear wizard, the best soup this side of the Misty Mountains and you know it." 

Gandalf chuckled, lifted his spoon and saluted before taking the first hot mouthful. "Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Excellent. Truly a wonder. Nay, a marvel. Why, not even Elrond himself..." 

"Enough!" Laughter rang through the little clearing and the sudden breeze gusting through the southern edge of the Chetwood set every leaf to dancing. "Remember, my dear sir, you and your words are no match for me, so beware!" 

Lifting one bushy eyebrow, Gandalf drew himself up and snorted. "Then I and my words shall both be silent and finish this lovely soup." 

For some minutes, the click of busy spoons was the only sound other than the evening chorus from the surrounding woods, where crickets and nightbugs sang to the stars in gentle counterpoint. 

Gandalf swallowed a mouthful, licked his lips. "Perhaps..." And scraped the bottom of his bowl. "Perhaps a spate of unseated hinges. I'd be willing to swear that Frodo knows next to nothing about hinges. And Sam might have written the book, as they say. So..." 

"Gandalf." The empty bowl was plucked from the wizard's hands and placed to one side. "My love, you have been chasing turnips and ponies for years. The Shire means more to you now than you could possibly have anticipated. But is your vision still clear in this instance? And yes, I see plainly the pain in your heart. But you can do no more than you have done." 

Gandalf closed his eyes and sighed. "I know, I know all of this. But if you could see what I have seen, if you could know the power that moves against these innocent, undefiled creatures..." His voice caught in his throat. 

Slender fingers touched Gandalf's face, gently caressing the lines and creases, trembling feather-light over the tight lips. "Hush. And let me tell you what I see." The voice was tender and as strong as the roots of mountains. "Your role here, in this place and time, has grown dangerous and grim. Your part it has been to sift through things best left hidden to mortal eyes, even best left undisturbed, if you listened to those who know no better. And you go on, day after long and lonely day, preserving what is good and kind and innocent... All the time, knowing the price even they may pay." 

The fingers found their way round the back of Gandalf's neck, pressing firmly against the knotted muscles along his shoulders. The voice was barely a whisper now. 

"You are strong, you are wise. And above all, you have faith in those you have come to love, even though it seems I must convince you of this." The quick smile spoke of sunlight and soaring and the song of birds. "We are as different as we were called, you and I, and yet not so different in what we both love and what we both see." 

Gandalf looked down at his hands, clasped now in those long, slender fingers, and felt his fears, his worries, his heartache ease, until that part of him deep inside, the part that understood that all events must take the path most clearly marked and that it was his duty to encourage, to explain, to offer... 

"Look at me, Gandalf, and let me tell you a thing. For I see the forest and you see the trees. Yet we both love every root, every branch, every leaf with equal fervor. I see the little bugs, the crawling things, the winged creatures. You see the garden. Yet we both tend with equal care, raise the wounded and protect the weary and the weak from the wind and rain. And the heel of the enemy." 

Gandalf trembled, held within the spell of the voice, the sound of the words he knew spoke with truth... 

"Our work here is long, my wizard. And painful. And so often fraught with peril, that perhaps it is hard to remember that the fate of hearts and desires is not ours to force." The smile came again and this time, it spoke of rainbows and racing hooves and the strength of beak and talon. "Come, my love, let your heart rest. Your own battle comes later. As does mine. And for what it's worth, I think you need not worry for those two. Writing this chapter is beyond you, but not beyond them." 

Gandalf lifted the the warm hand clasping his own and kissed it. "Ah, my Aiwendil. Ever do I miss thee when thou art far from my side. Ever dost thou know the nearest of my fears and the deepest of my dreams." He pressed his face against the warm fingers, chuckling softly. "You so often have the right of things." 

"Beloved, be at peace in this place. And rest your burdens." The voice lifted and grew light, like a ray of sun piercing the darkest of thunderclouds. "We have yet to ascertain the part we play in this tide of war. That was for Manw and our brethren to know. But we did not come bereft of all that was severed from us in that long journey." 

Gandalf smiled and his heart surged with joy. "No indeed, not bereft of all. For we have each other." Standing in one swift motion, he drew the slender man to his feet, drawing him gently into his arms. "Aiwendil, thou keepest my heart and my soul and I would lie with thee, touch thee, call forth all that doth give these bodies pleasure." Gandalf watched as the slow smile turned to gentle laughter. 

"Come then, Olrin that was, we shall lie together and I shall speak to you of the Light that once we knew and shall ever know again." 

And from within the little clearing on the southern edge of the Chetwood came the sound of sweet words, the soft rustle of irelevant clothing, breath caught upon soft breath and the whispered music of a tongue no mortal and few elves had ever heard. And long into the deep hours, the wanderers shared all that they were now and as much of who they had been as was given to them in this time and place. 

And somewhere in the night, between one memory and the next, between one joyous union and another, a vision came with piercing clearness to both, of a wise, old tree under which lay two hobbits, a vision of tears and joy and the clarity of love. And drifting within the vision, Radagast understood the cause of Gandalf's fears and the ultimate joy upon which all of his hopes rested. And he knew, in turn, what his own path must be. 

The End.


End file.
